Chapter 2: The Terror of Perception
Granny had an older model casing, so the landing was rougher than what Culsu was used to—even after a few landings, she still half expected the landing of the Type 74 Mk IV they studied with in her classes at the Academy. The newer model was smoother and less obtrusive, materialising all at once rather than phasing in and out of the Void, and there was less temporal displacement. She winced as she brought Granny to a bumpy landing in a back alley in Providence, promising herself she'd make a few improvements when she could find the time.
Of course, there wasn't much left of that, was there? said a traitorous part of her consciousness. To shut it up, she smiled brightly at her wife and daughter. "So! Lovecraft, then! He's really very interesting, for a human. He wrote about what he called 'Yog Sothothery' or 'the Yog Sothoth Cycle', but it became widely known as the Cthulhu mythos."
Lottiver grinned to herself.
"Oh, shut up, you," said Culsu affectionately. "Anyway, what's really interesting is that a lot of it is real. Not all of it, sure, and some of it he got wrong; for example, in Lovecraft's works, Azathoth is the most powerful of the Great Old Ones, when in reality, he's just another god of chaos. There are a few Shobogan cults devoted to him—"
"We're not visiting them," Lotivver said quickly. Loki pouted.
"What? Why not? It's practically tradition to go to at least one occult mass in Low Town. You have to wear trousers when you go, to fit in with them. It's all very… you know," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's not particularly legal, of course, but it's very interesting to spend a night with the lower castes; to see how they live, and all that."
She is four spans old, Culsu, Lotivver hissed silently. The pointed reminder that she herself could hardly be called upper-caste didn't have to be verbalised.
"...Anyway. We can talk about that later. Maybe," she added quickly, seeing Lotivver's glare. "There are a lot of other names in his supposedly-fictional mythos you'll recognise: Dagon, Hastur, and of course you'll know Cthulhu…"
"That's you!" Loki giggled, clinging to Lotivver's leg as the Vinvocci made a valiant effort not to smirk.
Culsu raised an eyebrow haughtily, but didn't comment. "There are hundreds of Great Old Ones he doesn't reference, of course, but almost all of the ones he does are based on real people, which lead some literary historians from the 30th and 31st centuries to theorise that he'd met someone who told him about the Great Old Ones. Nyarlathotep, the Haunter in the Dark, whom Lovecraft refers to as a 'Messenger of the Gods'." The quotation marks were audible. "By the 34th century—"
"Who was it?" Loki asked. "Who told him about Time Lords? And why did he make them monsters?"
About that… Lotivver thought drily.
Culsu shot her a look and a wordless Quiet, you. Studiously ignoring her wife, she smiled at Loki and swooped her up, making the time tot squeal happily. "Well," she said. "You'll have to ask him, won't you?" Loki gave an eager nod, and Culsu gingerly set her back on her feet. Their daughter was getting heavier. "Come on, then," she said cheerfully, taking Loki's tiny kiwi-colored hand in her own. "Granny, try not to turn yourself into a lamppost again, it was almost impossible to find you last time…"
"Culsu!" Lotivver yelped, lunging across the console to slam the exterior doors shut. The console had slowly inched its way closer and closer to the living room over the past six months, and had finally settled happily into an unobtrusive corner; Granny was curious, she wanted to be a part of things. Lotivver didn't really mind; the console wasn't terribly big and somehow made the room feel more, rather than less, like home. (Part of her was aware that she was just picking up echoes of Culsu's symbiosis with her timeship; most of her loved Granny's gentle presence and didn't much care why.)
"Hmm? What's wrong? I checked the scanners, Lotivver, we're definitely in the right century." This time.
Lotivver stared at her incredulously. "Eighteenth-century Rhode Island, Culsu! That means humans."
She hadn't seen Culsu look so taken-aback since she'd first snogged her, back in their Academy days. "Lotivver?" she said, amazed. "You're the last person I'd expect xenophobia from. Are you quite all right?"
Lotivver gave a long-suffering sigh. "Perception filters, Culsu. Only one of us looks human."
Culsu sent out a reflexive mental flash to the general tune of I do not look human, but otherwise ignored the statement in favour of staring incredulously at Lotivver. "We're behind Barnes Street. It's the middle of the night. No one is going to see you."
"Yes, they are," Lotivver said slowly. "That's the whole reason we're here, to talk to…" She trailed off with a sigh as she realised where the conversation was going.
"...to H. P. Lovecraft. And it's not as though you're going to scare him," said Culsu, unnecessary except to flaunt the Time Lord's logical superiority. "Or do you think walking cacti are somehow more terrifying than ancient, unknowable gods able to take human form?"
Lotivver was certain there was a reply she could make to that, but Culsu rolled her eyes and dragged her out of the timeship before she could figure out what it was.
"Mr. Lovecraft!"
"I'm not a cultist," said an irritated voice from behind the door. "Go away."
"Nor am I!" said Culsu, horrified at the suggestion. "Robes are traditional for members of my—"
"Mr. Lovecraft," Lotivver interrupted, elbowing Culsu in the ribs. "We're sorry to bother you this late, but it's not safe for us to be out during the day…" No, she realised, that sounded bad. "That is, people might see us—" Even worse.
"My mummy's Cthulhu!" Loki said helpfully. "And mama's Vinvocci so—"
"Thank you, Loki!" Lotivver yelped, clapping a hand over her daughter's mouth.
"What they're trying to say, Mr. Lovecraft," Culsu put in, "is that we're time travellers, and don't exactly fit in with 1928 Earth, so we had to come at night."
It's 1926, Lotivver thought frantically.
No it isn't!
You said you checked the scanners! The scanners said 1926, Humanian Era!
I don't need to check the scanners, Lotivver, I'm a Time Lord. I know the Gallifreyan year in this time period and that makes it—
"...It's 1927," came Lovecraft's muffled reply.
Ha! Culsu thought.
You were still wrong!
I forgot about leap years. The scanners were wrong too!
"...Are you still there?" Lovecraft demanded.
"Hello!" Loki said to the closed door. "My name's Loki! I like your book!"
There was an exasperated sigh and chains clinked as several locks on the door were undone. "Listen," said Lovecraft as he turned the knob. "This has been very nice, but if you'll kindly leave—"
The door was yanked open, and promptly froze.
Loki waved happily. Howard Lovecraft, still staring at Lotivver, gave an absentminded wave in return.
"May we come in?" said Culsu.
Lovecraft blinked, breaking out of his momentary stupor. "Are you incapable of entering without an invitation?"
"What? No, I'm just trying to be polite. You're my daughter's favourite author, after all, I'd hate to be rude."
Lotivver snorted softly. Culsu gave her a good-natured mental swat.
Lovecraft, having shaken himself somewhat out of his daze, glanced briefly at Culsu. "Would you, ah… like to come in? On the condition you don't cause anyone here any harm."
Culsu smiled demurely at the author. "Of course. The House of Oakdown bears you no ill will." She inclined her head in greeting, the lantern-light making the tapetum in her eyes glow.
To his credit, Lovecraft didn't react but to raise an eyebrow.
"That went surprisingly well!" said Culsu brightly once they'd returned to the timeship, who had deigned to disguise herself as a Rowe cigarette vending machine.
Culsu had an interesting definition of 'going well'. No one had died, at least, but Lotivver wasn't certain that Lovecraft had been entirely mentally present. The poor man had seemed an odd combination of dazed and hyper-alert; not so much following the conversation as watching for the slightest sign that one of his visitors was about to metamorphosise into an eldritch abomination. The closest they had gotten was Loki's reaction to the coffee she'd drained before Lotivver realised she'd been offered it.
"He's very perceptive," Culsu said approvingly. "Not a hint of psychic ability, of course, but he figured out we were using mental communication very quickly."
"Well, people tend to do that when you correct their Gallifreyan history pretending to hand them a pen." He had reacted remarkably well to the unexpected touch-telepathy. His neighbors probably hadn't even heard him shriek. "He's a human author, Culsu, he doesn't care about historical inaccuracies in the Great Vampire Wars!"
"He ought to if he's writing about them!"
Lotivver sighed.
"I liked him," Loki said sleepily, shifting in Lotivver's arms. She was clutching a recently-signed black-leather copy of the Necronomicon, in which her new friend had included a quick sketch of her family. Lotivver was slightly disturbed by his interpretation, but thought it would be rude to mention. Culsu had seemed to approve of how he'd drawn her, in any case, emphasising her inhuman features. "He doesn't like other human chapters much, does he, mummy?"
Culsu smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "No, I don't think he does. Tired?"
"No," Loki muttered.
Granny whooshed in what could have been a laugh. Loki didn't hear her, as she was asleep.
Culsu kissed Lotivver lightly. "Can you get her to bed? I'll move us into the Void before someone decides to buy a pack of cigarettes."
"The Void?" said Lotivver, grinning. "Where to next, the Dreamlands of the unknown Kadath?"
Culsu lifted her head with mostly-affected haughtiness. "I was going to say pre-spaceflight Pandorica VII."
...Oh.
"The ancient Vinvocci?" Lotivver said hesitantly. "I... didn't know you were interested." Culsu was a sweetheart, she really was, and she had somehow managed to avoid a lot of her people's xenophobia and classism; but she was still a Time Lord, very much one. Certainly Lotivver had never anticipated her taking time out of their grand tour of the universe to visit the nomadic desert culture of talking cactus people.
Culsu brushed almost shyly against her mind. It's part of who she is, she said awkwardly, nodding at their sleeping daughter. She should know about them.
Lotivver grinned widely, and only restrained herself from flinging herself at Culsu like an undergrad again because Loki was in her arms.
"Good morning!"
Lotivver groaned and rolled over, pressing a pillow over her face to block out the sudden light.
"'s not morning yet," she griped.
"Yes it is," said Culsu smugly.
Stupid Time Lord.
Lazy Vinvocci. We materialized three hours ago, Loki wants to explore.
Lotivver groaned again.
From Pandorica VII (that had been quite the trip; Culsu had, for once, been the one who needed the perception filter, and seeing her wife as a Vinvocci had been both interesting and intensely uncomfortable) they had taken off like they were being hunted. Culsu denied any such thing with an easy smile and a peck on the cheek; still, Lotivver had felt a slight guardedness in her thoughts, and she'd kept Loki close as they leapfrogged across the universe.
Culsu had whirled them almost carelessly from the Eye of Orion to the Skies of Always to the Singing Towers of Darillium to a stunningly gorgeous chain-reaction of supernovas in the corner of an unobtrusive galaxy somewhere in the Mutter's Spiral, where they had snuggled close together with their feet dangling out the doorway and sipped purple Vinvocci tea until Loki fell asleep on Culsu's lap. The crystal waterfalls and luxurious suites and spa treatments at Midnight were, Lotivver discovered, infinitely more enjoyable without quantum-physics lectures, whatever Culsu insisted to the contrary; she pouted enough that their next trip had been an excruciating xenobiology lecture at some famous university. The fact that Loki had enjoyed it was almost disturbing.
Their manic pace had slowed somewhat lately, as who- or whatever hadn't been chasing them apparently began to lose interest. Still, the constantly-changing venues and excitement took their toll sometimes, and Lotivver was tired.
"Lotivver," Culsu said, perching on the side of the bed and poking her leg. "Lotivver… Lotivver, you can't stay in there forever, if you pull that pillow over your head any harder you're going to poke holes in it. There will be feathers everywhere, Lotivver."
Lotivver growled something that she very much hoped Loki couldn't hear.
A high-pitched gasp told her that she had. Lotivver bit the inside of her mouth in an attempt not to repeat it.
Rude, Culsu huffed.
Lotivver sent her a vivid mental picture of a very rude gesture before stretching and reluctantly extricating herself from under her pillow. She felt one of her spines catch, and carefully pulled the impaled pillow off of her head.
I told you.
"It didn't tear, it's just a hole."
Third time in a span, Lotivver. You're a menace to bedclothes.
Shut up. "Where are we?" she asked blurrily. "Or when are we."
"Viśl, Etruria, Terra. Early… ninth century BCE, Humanian Era."
"And why are we here?" asked Lotivver, the final syllable transforming into a wide yawn as she swung her legs off the side of the bed, sitting up and rubbing at tired eyes. "It doesn't really seem like your sort of place."
"Well," said Culsu awkwardly. "It's an important part of the Etruscan confederacy in this time period. I'm sure it's very nice…" Translation: Granny had decided to take control, and Culsu honestly had no idea why they were there.
"The last time you said someplace would probably be very nice, there were Cybermen there, Culsu," said Lotivver.
"They were no danger to us! Their conversion techniques are only compatible with mammals."
"Which you look very similar to!" Lotivver hissed, pulling a tunic over her head. The nicest thing about not being on Gallifrey was being able to wear normal clothes rather than their heavy robes. Technically, Lotivver could have worn whatever style she wanted, by virtue of being an alien and therefore outside the caste system. Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar's human bodyguard, Leelandredloomsagwinaechegesima, was a case study of the point, wearing leather skins which looked primitive even to Lotivver, who considered herself very open to other cultures. She had married into the Prydonian chapter, like Lotivver had, so she had the very wide colour choice of orange or orange-brown, and had deigned to use orange-brown. Very nice girl, Lotivver had thought when she'd met her, if a bit too fond of blades.
Gallifrey was of course rather cold, though, so the borderline freedom of expression they had was hampered by practicality. Leela wore the leather skins of her culture through stubbornness, and possibly thick skin. Lotivver preferred being able to feel her extremities, and so gave in to Gallifreyan styles which she didn't really like but didn't hate either, although she could never have been convinced to wear one of those hideous collars.
One of the first things she had done after they left Gallifrey was get a few articles of clothing from her own people. Or, really, any people, so long as they weren't orange or any derivative thereof. She was green. It wasn't particularly complimentary.
"Perception filter," Culsu called, tossing the clip from across the room, and Lotivver caught it with a brief twinge of distaste, slipping the unobtrusive band over her elbow. It had been nice, spending a few months able to walk about without having to worry about being seen. The massage therapists at Midnight could do wonderful things with Vinvocci spines.
"Can we go now?" Loki bounced by the door. She had already been fitted with her perception filter, dark hair braided and wearing a surprisingly accurate-looking belted tunic, as though Culsu had actually made a cursory attempt at making her look as though she belonged in the era. For once, Culsu's bright-orange robes almost looked normal.
"Unless your mother wants to go back to sleep…"
"I'm awake," Lotivver griped. "Let's go see what Granny thinks is so important before I regret it."
"It's actually very good, Culsu," Lotivver informed her wife, tearing a small chunk off the hot pork-stuffed bun and handing it down to Loki. "You should try some."
"I'll eat something when we get back to Granny," Culsu said firmly. "You can eat it, though."
Thank you for your permission, Lotivver said drily. A quick, warning burst of alarm from Culsu cut off the instinctive kiss she'd been about to give her. Right. Thanks. The people here might not have been entirely adverse to women expressing themselves sexually (and the artwork was certainly proof of that), but true equality was still far in the future. It might have been alright for men to kiss in certain situations, but this was still a pre-spaceflight Terran culture. Lotivver had been trying to erase the term primative from her vocabulary since living on Gallifrey, but some practices still made it float to the surface.
"My feet are cold," Loki complained. Her little boots were warm, but the snow had started to soak the padding.
"Don't worry, we're almost back," Lotivver consoled her. "Granny will be nice and warm and your mother can get something Gallifreyan to eat."
"You're silly, mummy," Loki giggled, stuffing her pork tidbit into her mouth.
"I am not," Culsu grumped. "I just feel like Gallifreyan food."
"You're silly, sweetheart," Lotivver informed her with grave regret.
"Am not."
"Are too."
Culsu, fighting back a smile and losing, reached out and shoved her wife good-naturedly.
It wasn't a hard shove, barely enough to knock her off-balance. But the stone streets had been worn smooth over the years by hundreds of feet, and had very little in the way of traction; Lotivver could have compensated for that, if they hadn't been passing a metalworker's shop at the worst possible moment. The heat from the forge had partially melted the snow surrounding the shop, dissolving it into thick, treacherous slush that slumped and trickled and refroze itself in seemingly random patterns. Lotivver staggered, slipped, and toppled over, landing heavily on her back with most of her weight on one arm. There was a quiet crunch as something small and hard under her elbow shattered, and for a moment she thought she'd broken her arm.
That was before she felt Culsu's mind rushing into hers, coloured with raw terror. She looked down at her arm, and it wasn't broken. It was green.
Her perception filter was gone.
Culsu had pulled her to her feet before Lotivver noticed she'd moved, pushing Loki into her arms and propelling them down the street as shouts of horror erupted around them. Lotivver realized suddenly what they were seeing; a spined, alien creature, some sort of demon, sprinting away with a child in its arms. Loki still looked human.
Well, she thought as shrieking men and women scrambled over themselves, some throwing rocks or bricks or—please don't let that be a chamber pot—shoes, and most simply getting in the way. This can't get any worse.
That was, of course, when things got infinitely worse.
Lotivver almost ran straight into a half-finished blade; it was Culsu who spotted the danger, picking up on the man's intent just in time to grab Lotivver's collar and haul her to the side, throwing them into a stone wall at the last possible moment. Loki's head struck the alley wall, hard, and she cried out in pain. Lotivver didn't have time to comfort her.
Their metalworker friend who had almost run her through was blocking their path now, and unlike the others, he did not seem particularly terrified. The nondescript piece of iron he'd been working with, glowing dangerously yellow along most of the rough shaft, waved warningly at Lotivver's face. It looked rather uncomfortably sharp already. Still, the man was hesitating, glancing at Loki, and Lotivver was grudgingly thankful that he seemed unwilling to risk hurting the child.
Culsu planted herself in front of her wife and daughter, pressing them between her and the wall, and something in her stance shifted away from human. Lotivver felt, in the small part of her mind not consumed by frantic desperation, that she was projecting empathically at the mob, trying to force fear to overcome hatred long enough for them to make their escape to the timeship, which was only a few metres away at this point.
Culsu was very good at empathic projections—it was how they'd met, and a hectospan later, Lotivver could still hear a drumbeat if she thought back to it—but she wasn't particularly good at gauging the reaction to them. Lotivver, as relatively weak psychically as she was, could feel the mob mentality, a heavy, hulking thing, shift back from fear to anger, and stronger than before. Culsu had shown her colours as something other than human.
The metalworker snarled and drove the rough-hewn sword forward. Culsu's intense concentration snapped like a cut harpstring as she gave an understated gasp of pain, taking an unsteady step backwards, nearly falling back against Lotivver.
Culsu's hands flew to her abdomen, and Lotivver reeled, biting back a shriek of agony as the mental backlash of the injury ripped through her. The iron implement had gone through the lower part of Culsu's ribcage and downwards, and she could feel the tip, burning hot against her spine. Culsu pulled out the the blade with difficulty, already going weak with shock and blood loss. The white-hot metal burnt her hand, and she dropped the sword. It clanged loudly on the cobblestones in the sudden silence, rivulets of orange-red blood splattering on the snow and ice, pooling and spilling over her fingers.
Culsu choked, and her words came in quick, panicked mental bursts. Get in.
What?
Granny. Capsule. Get in. I— Lotivver felt the beginnings of a sickening wave of pain before Culsu fumbled over their mental link and the connection severed.
"Culsu," Lotivver said desperately. She tried to reach out to her, touch her mind, find some sort of desperate reassurance that she was all right—this was too fast, she couldn't process, but Culsu's mind was closed off, locked down firmly with pain. "Culsu!"
The Time Lord was past hearing. She stared at her burnt hand mutely as golden sparks of regenerative energy began to gather on her skin. It shone like she was holding a flame, and some of the humans reeled backwards in fear as the golden light raced up her arm and her skin glowed like white marble shining in the sun, too bright to look at. She exploded into golden flames, and the Etruscans screamed.
It was all over very quickly, the dramatic explosion of regenerative energy burning for scant seconds before dissipating as if it were never there. Culsu stood doubled over, breathing heavily, dark hair falling in ringlets in front of her new face, obscuring her features.
They were still faced by an angry mob.
Admittedly at least half the mob had fainted and the rest looked about ready to follow them; but there were a few who were already recovering, and Lotivver could feel a slow rise of hysteria beginning. The crowd was terrified enough to rip them to shreds.
"Culsu!" she shouted with voice and mind alike. "We need to leave. Now. Where's Granny?" Not for the first time, she cursed the timeship's determined approach to blending in. Granny was creative, detail-oriented and excellent at finding unobtrusive materialisation sites, and it was going to get them killed.
Culsu didn't verbally reply, deigning instead to grab the arm Lotivver didn't have around Loki and pull her towards an ivy-covered portion of wall. It didn't look any different from the rest of the walls, but when Culsu touched the bricks, they melted away into nothing as the outer plasmic shell re-fitted itself. The lights of the console room were deep red with worry, only fading once Culsu had staggered up to the console and phased them into the Vortex, leaving an empty span of wall behind.